Missing Fi
by The Rebellious Observer
Summary: Carey's love for Fiona eventually causes him to develop a serious, life-threatening problem. Can he overcome it? (Chapter four now up!)
1. Yellow. Stars. Love. Fi. Blood.

Disclaimer: I don't own So Weird, and I'm not making any money off of it

Disclaimer: I don't own So Weird, and I'm not making any money off of it. Though, if anyone would like to give/sell me one of the SW hotties (particularly Erik and/or Eric), I'd be forever grateful! =o) (Hey, a girl can dream, can't she?) =o) Oh, and I _also _don't own the song "Yellow." =o( I'm borrowing it without permission for this story, but since I'm not making any money off of it either, please don't sue. 

Warning (and Author's Note): This story contains lots of Carey-abuse. He develops a very disturbing form of self-abuse; so if you don't want to read about our poor cutie getting hurt, DON'T READ THIS. Heck, I had a hard enough time writing about it, and it's from my own mind. =o( Poor Carey. #sighs# Well, I'm sure he has loads of adoring fans who'd just _love_ to help him overcome his problem (and, of course, live happily ever after with him…). #gets a silly smile on face and begins drifting off to Fantasy land# Oh, just read the story now. If you dare. (There's also mild cursing. Hey, it _is_ rated R people.)

P.S. I'm trying out a different style of writing with this story (or at least this part of it) so if you think that it's a little weird, well, quite frankly, I agree. Oh, and I apologize if Carey or any other character seems to be OOC (I mean, really, Carey, _abusing_ himself?). I've tried to dive deep into his (albeit, imaginary) psyche to give you guys a logical explanation as to why he'd be driven to do such a thing, and I hope you buy my explanation (no, not literally, and, oops, did I really just type that? Darn. I'm too lazy to go back and fix it (jk)). And, before I forget, "Yellow" lyrics (performed by Coldplay) were found at [http://www.lyricz.50g.com/coldplay.html#yellow][1]. Okay. Read.  
  


****Narrator's POV**** 

The night was chilly. The threat of frost was swiftly approaching the small, sleepy Southern town that the Molly Phillips Tour Bus had stopped in for the night. A solitary figure gazed out at the stars, those untouchable balls of soft, bright brilliance. The figure was long, hard, and lean. A passerby, if any passerby were to be had at such an hour, would have noticed the look of complete serenity and peacefulness on the figure's handsome face as he tilted it up towards the brilliant stars and bathed in their light. His eyes were closed; a small smile graced his full mouth. If one were able to delve into this fair-haired boy's thoughts at that moment, one would find visions of a lovely, petite beauty with long brown hair and warm brown eyes that had succeeded in melting the boy's heart. Ah, but alas, his happiness was short-lived. The long eyelashes that had rested so contentedly on the tan face fluttered up to reveal his incredible eyes, now clouded with sadness. The charming grin he'd worn only moments ago was gone. And why, pray tell, would such a one be inclined to feel sadness? It was because the stars reminded him of her. 'How so?' one might demand. Because she, like the shimmering stars, was so soft, so beautiful, so enticingly captivating…yet utterly unreachable. To touch one of such purity was to corrupt. Or so is the reasoning of this as-of-yet nameless protagonist. 'While we're on the subject,' one might begin, 'what exactly _is_ the name of this lonely soul?' Carey Bell. 'And the girl?' Fiona Phillips. At this point it might be unclear as to why exactly this boy, this…Carey… is sitting out alone in the dead of night thinking about a girl he thinks is too good for him. Well, to spare one from once more having to ask, I'll explain. Carey has known this girl, this Fiona, for most of his life, and all of hers. Over the course of the years, he gradually fell in love with her and her unorthodox ways, clever wit, and all the other hundreds of millions of small, minuscule things that people find to be so wonderful in their 'other half.' The only problem is, love snuck up on him slowly, sneakily, unnoticeably. By time he realized that he was totally, helplessly, irreparably in love with the 'girl next door,' she wasn't there anymore. She was in Seattle. And he wasn't. He was stuck in the MP bus on the MP tour, traveling the country playing music. And while this was his dream, while he was living out what he'd thought he'd always wanted to do, he realized something: he didn't like his life so much any more. Sure there was Annie, the new 'paranormal magnet' of the group; Jack was still around, and still the skeptic; and Clu, the eternally clueless, still came around whenever he could. The adults were still there. He was still there. But Fi wasn't, and without her in his life, Carey found himself disliking existence less and less every day. Touring wasn't some big adventure anymore; it was tedious. The odd and unusual wasn't thrilling and exiting now; it was just odd and unusual. And as for having anything even remotely resembling a love life, well, needless to say, _that _was a laugh. Sure, girls still came up to him and made passes, still "accidentally" brushed up against him, but they never got anywhere with all their flirting. They just couldn't measure up to the pure, wonderful girl Carey had pictured in his mind on a pedestal: Fi. Unfortunately, a very serious, very _deadly_ problem has resulted from his innocent, loving adoration. I can tell you no more now. Instead look to the object of our discussion. His thoughts and actions explain more than I ever could.

******Carey's POV******

As I sit here in the night, I can't help but think of her once more. I close my eyes and feel myself relax as I remember her, and all the things I love about her. I think about her lovely eyes, her soft, pink lips, even the way she parts her thick, long hair. I could be here all night, all year, all eternity listing all the things that makes Fi…well, Fi. Those small, wonderful little details about her that made me fall in love with her in the first place, without even realizing it. I'd stay here, if I could, thinking about her in the radiance of the glowing night, but I can't. Tomorrow the sun will rise, and I'll get back on that damn bus and ride all day long to another place, another gig, and another day of missing Fi. I open my eyes. She's gone. I have to live with it. I can't live with it. It's killing me. What the hell's the matter with me? She'll never be mine. I'm not worthy of her. Nobody is. I wish I were. I'm not, though. Not yet. But I'm working on it. She's coming for Christmas, which is only a week and a half away; I hope that maybe then I'll have the courage to tell her how I feel about her. I sigh. Thinking of her has brought back the memory of the day she left. Passengers were already boarding, and though we'd all said goodbye to Fi already, none of us could resist some more last minute ones. I'd been waiting for this moment; I wanted to surprise her with something pleasant on this day of goodbyes. As she turned to me for one last goodbye, I surprised her by handing her a long yellow rose. Roses are her favorite flower, and yellow is her favorite color. I hadn't been able to resist buying it for her. The delight on her face at the flower was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I recall dazedly making a mental note to give her yellow roses the next time I saw her. "Thank you Carey, you're the greatest," she said, smiling. She gave me a quick fierce hug, and when it was done our gazes caught and held for a brief moment of bliss. She was brave and tearful and unsure, and looking right at me. I felt the urge to beg her to stay, to grab hold of her and never let go, but then she turned and our moment was gone as she hurried away, and out of my life. As I sit here with my memories and my guitar, I feel the beginnings of a song form in my head. Yellow. Stars. Love. Fi. Blood. As I pick up my guitar I cradle it in my arms for a while. I am listening to the music play in my head. While I memorize the beat, the words come, unbidden. I begin to play. And then I sing, I sing for Fi.

_Look at the stars  
Look how they shine for you  
And everything you do  
Yeah, they were all yellow _

_I came along  
I wrote a song for you  
And all the things you do  
And it was called yellow_

_So then I took my turn  
Oh what a thing to have done  
And it was all yellow_

_Your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones  
Turn into something beautiful  
D'you know?  
You know I love you so  
You know I love you so_

_I swam across  
I jumped across for you  
Oh what a thing to do  
'Cos you were all yellow_

_I drew a line  
I drew a line for you  
Oh what a thing to do  
And it was all yellow_

_And your skin, oh yeah your skin and bones  
Turn into something beautiful  
D'you know?  
For you I bleed myself dry  
For you I bleed myself dry_

_It's true  
Look how they shine for you  
Look how they shine for you  
Look how they shine for   
Look how they shine for you  
Look how they shine for you  
Look how they shine_

_Look at the stars  
Look how they shine for you  
And all the things that you do_

I am satisfied with this song, my small tribute to Fi and how I feel for her. Everything was exposed in this song. Everything. Even the secret I've been keeping all these weeks has been expressed in this, my art. I wonder if I should write this down to show Molly. Yes, I'd like that. I'm not too worried about anyone looking too hard at some of the lyrics I've put in. No, I'm sure no one will know what it is that I'm hiding. No one will ever know. If people found out that I cut myself deliberately, they wouldn't understand. They wouldn't understand how it helps to cleanse me, how I do it to bleed out all those impurities inside me that make me unfit to be accepted by the only one who matters: Fiona. The girl I love. Yes, I think she'll accept me someday. I just need to act soon. I won't let some unworthy pinhead come along to sweep her off her feet. No. I won't allow that happen to her. That won't happen to Fi. I…God, I must be more tired than I thought. Whew. I was a little dizzy there for a minute. Okay, I guess I'll head back to the hotel now. It's already…1:45 in the morning?! Great.

******Narrator's POV******

And so we see this boy, this misled man-who-is-not-yet-a-man as he tucks his guitar beneath his arm and returns to the somnolent hotel that he and the rest of the MP Tour Bus are staying at this night. And now I shall depart and let him get some much-needed rest. But do not worry, concerned reader. This boy's tale will be told, and I have barely just begun to tell it. So come back another time, and together we shall discover if Carey is destined for happiness and bliss or tragedy and heartbreak.

Author's Note: Okay, I just want everyone to know that I _am not _supporting self-mutilation in any way, shape, or form, so please, **please**,please, nobody go cutting themselves, okay. Of course, we savvy ff.net readers are way too smart to go and do something stupid like that (no offense, story Carey), but you can never be too careful, though. I actually don't understand why anyone would _ever_ want to do something like that (I mean, I cried last time I got one of those mandatory booster shots, and those things are supposed to be "virtually painless" #rolls eyes#), but, anyway, I'm off subject here. Just keep reading please! =o) ****

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   [1]: http://www.lyricz.50g.com/coldplay.html#yellow



	2. But then again, so would Freud.

Author's Note: I'm back

Author's Note: I'm back! Yay! #People run; I frown in puzzlement# Anyway…sorry I haven't written in so long. I don't have a real excuse. I'm just lazy. Though school _is something of a nuisance. I'm trying not to write such long author notes now, since I when I went back to read my first "Missing Fi" chapter, I noticed that all my notes took up more room then the actual story! Oops. =o) Well, onward through the fog! R&E (Read and enjoy!)_

Disclaimer: Firstly, I don't own _Seventeen magazine, nor do I get any money for it (you'll see why I mentioned that later. I'm an odd little person, ain't I?) I also don't own So Weird, nor am I making any money off of this story. (Note: If I _did_, however, own So Weird, it would no longer be a kiddie show. #Smirks smugly#)_

One more note: Oh, and I'd like to thank "Jack Phillip's Girl" for her reassurance that I'm not the _only_ one who freaks out with booster shots, as well as anyone else who's reading this story, even though its been beyond forever since I first posted it. 

CAUTION: Cursing ahead! And beware of my evil mind tricks! #cackles# Hahahahahahahaha…

******Carey's POV******

It is mid-afternoon, and we're all on the road again. I am, needless to say, bored. My father, esteemed roadie Ned Bell, is driving the bus (as usual), my mother, workaholic Irene Bell, is jabbering on the phone (as usual), Molly and her son, Jack, are playing cards (as usual), Annie is chatting with friends on the Web (as usual), and I am stuck here on the couch like a jackass, pretending to read a magazine, though what I'm _really_ doing is fantasizing about Fi. As usual. Everything is like it has been since Fi left. Boring as Hell. All the fun and excitement and joy in my life seems to have been absent from it since that day. But I know that, should anyone ask, I'd plaster a smile on my face and say, "The world is my oyster," or some other equally ridiculous saying, making sure that no one knew, or even suspected, how things really are away from prying eyes. Yup, everything's just dandy with me. Super fan-fucking-tastic. I sigh, which gains a questioning glance from Jack where he sits at the table across from his mom, shuffling the cards for another game of Poker. Personally, I like Go Fish. I won't _admit it to anyone, of course, but it's true. It's Fi's favorite card game, too. Ah, Fi. Whenever I begin to think of something else, anything__ else, my thoughts somehow manage to swerve and weave their way back to her. Honestly, I don't think it's natural to love someone so much. To me, she's more than a friend, not quite a lover, but definitely an obsession. What's wrong with me? I know I don't deserve her, but I can't help wanting her. Strike that--I don't __want her, I __need her. I'm so confused. I offer Jack a cheerful-looking smile of reassurance and return to "reading" the magazine. He resumes shuffling, his curiosity satisfied for the moment._

******Jack's POV******

What's wrong with him? He's been acting so…well…_weird lately. I don't know what's going on, but I __do know that the Carey I see now is __not the Carey I once knew. I notice him let out a melancholy sigh, and I glance over at him, silently asking him, "What's wrong?" He offers me a weak-looking smile, his own nonverbal way of saying, "Nothing." He looks back at the magazine in his lap, pretending to read. I know he's not reading it, though. I'm more observant than people give me credit for. I know that there's no way in Hell that anyone, especially Carey, would be so damn interested in __Seventeen magazine that they would stare at the same page in it for an hour, like he's been doing. I make a mental note to talk to Annie about it, and then turn back and continue shuffling the cards._

******************************* Later *******************************

One card game later, with my junk food stash considerably depleted (Mom's idea of Poker chips), I make my way over to Annie's room. I knock softly, and at her bubbly chirping of, "Come in," I enter. She turns around to see who her visitor is, and smiles hugely when she sees that it's me. I swear, when she smiles, she lights the whole room up. What did I ever do to deserve such a great girlfriend? "Jack!" she squeals in delight, as she rushes over to quickly close and lock the door behind me, after which I am enveloped in the mother of all hugs, and showered with a barrage of kisses. I can't say that I mind, though. Even though we travel on the same tour bus and are constantly around each other, we're always delighted to have moments alone together. We haven't told anyone about our relationship, except Fi. I think Carey suspects, but I don't think that he really cares one way or the other. With this thought, I am reminded about what I came here to talk with her with in the first place, and I reluctantly break our impromptu make out session. "Annie…" I manage to wheeze, after hurriedly breathing in a much-needed breath of air. I don't get any farther then that, however. She gives me a little pout, and that's all it takes to break my resolve to talk to her about what she thinks might be going on with Carey. I'd rather kiss her silly, and that's exactly what I do. Damn, she knows me too well. That's my last thought before the kiss deepens and all coherent thought leaves me. 

******Carey's POV******

I hear a loud thump come from Annie's room and smirk. Do they actually think that we're all so stupid that no one would figure out that they're a couple? They're not exactly subtle, I notice. This is confirmed as I hear a very muffled, very feminine giggling, followed abruptly with silence. Well, to be fair to them, their plan seems to be working all right. Fi would have noticed immediately, as I have, but Fi isn't here, a fact that I am more painfully and acutely aware of with each passing day. But, returning to my original train of thought: my mom is much too busy to notice such things, Clu isn't exactly the brightest, and isn't here very often anyway, and I think that it's very possible that my father and Molly are just naturally oblivious. The fact that "the children" are growing up has probably eluded them. Then again, as I turn my head, I see Molly staring at me with a hungry look in her eyes. She's been staring at me more and more with that look lately, and I want to scream in frustration every time she does it. But what would I scream? Certainly not the truth. After all, I couldn't very well stomp up to her and yell, "Listen, I don't like the fact that you're lusting after me! The fact is, _I happen to be in love with you're sixteen-year-old daughter, whose natural perfection has led me to become a cutter in the hopes that I can bleed out my flaws, so that I'll one day be worthyenough to declare my love and marry her! Oh, and by the way, don't worry about having that 'sex talk' with Annie or Jack; they're both well versed in that area. You might soon be a Grandma!" Nope. That wouldn't do at all, so I simply turn back to Annie's airhead magazine and hope that Molly will stop scrutinizing me soon._

She doesn't. I'm really uncomfortable by this time, so I get up and announce that I'm going to take a nap, and wake me up at the next stop, please. After I enter the room Jack and I share, I flop down on my bed. On second thought…I get up and lock the door. Jack was occupied, and he wouldn't be stopping by anytime soon. I feel better now. Once again, I take a few small steps to my bed and collapse onto it like a boneless mass of flesh. I roll over onto my back and stare at my ceiling. I stay like that for a while, just looking at the cracks in the plaster, thinking. Thinking. I've been doing much too much of that lately. Sometimes I'm afraid that I'll waste away here on this little bus, just thinking my life away, instead of actually _doing. I think about Fiona, and I wonder if, when the time comes, I'll be able to tell her the way I feel. I __think about doing it a lot, but I wonder if I actually have the courage to __do it. I shut my eyes tightly. Too much thinking. It's making my head spin. If I'm not careful, I might just turn into a damn philosopher, like Clu's been studying to be. Man, he'd have a field day with me if he ever found out all the thoughts that run through my head. But then again, so would Freud. I open my eyes. The dizziness is still there, but it's fading rapidly. It finally goes away, and by this time, I feel my eyelids become heavier and slip down over my eyes, as I slip into the world of dreams._

Author's note: #Still cackling# …hahahahahahahaha! #Takes deep breath after such extensive cackling# Aren't I evil? I don't know, there's just something about Halloween that brings out my dark side. Well…to be truthful, I'm always like this. Oh, well. At first, I didn't _intend to mess with the minds of my loyal fans (hehehe…such a shameful thing for me to do, I know), but temptation proved to be too much, and I gave into my Muse's prodding to, "Give the story some zest already!" Humph. The wench.I think she's been sneaking off to watch those blasted soap operas again… #curses#. Well, seeing as how she's the only muse I have at the moment (really, why is the Romance/Angst muse the only one to show up when I feel like writing? I don't __like to make Disney's boy cuties go through bad stuff, but I do. Blast her!), I'll have to make due. Anyway... stay tuned! (P.S. Nope, I don't believe that I have a living, breathing Muse, like the show presented them…it's just a way of referring to the place where my inspiration comes from, wherever that may be. After all, I'm not __crazy. Right? #Silence# Darn, where did all the voices in my head go? Ha!)_

One last author's note: #Narrator glares and holds up a bat menacingly# Uh, we'll see if the narrator will come back in later chapters. I just couldn't find a good place to fit him/her (whatever), so don't think I've dropped that idea entirely. #Narrator drops bat, satisfied; I sigh in relief. People shake their heads, disappointed#


	3. Since we last met (A flavor called Fiona...

Author's Note: I bet you thought I'd stay gone for at least a month or so, didn't you? Well, surprise surprise! I'm alive and kicking. =o) (#Innocent bystander: Ouch! Why did you kick me?#) Err…okay…R/E (Read and Enjoy).

Disclaimer: Okay…I'm about to tell you something shocking. I don't own So Weird. #People gasp; I let out a heartfelt sob# It's true. But it gets worse…I don't even make any money off of it. Can you believe that? Gosh Darn! #People look at me oddly; Me: What? I can say "Gosh Darn" if I want to# I guess I'll just have to let out my frustration on poor 'ol Carey. (Damn you Romance/Angst Muse, damn you!)

****Narrator's POV****

A heavenly creature is he who lies so peacefully now, in sleep; his form, so long and lean, is buried beneath the crumpled white sheets. But he doesn't mind. He is dreaming; such wonderful, lovely dreams he has…but they are only that: dreams. Can you guess who this is? No? Then I shall help you figure it out. He is quite handsome, this boy…unruly blonde hair, thick and soft, which seems to beg the observer to touch its gentle waves; soft, full lips, so pink and pouty, which seem to made to be kissed; a smooth, tan face, free of any blemish or flaw; long limbs; powerful frame; a clean-shaven and well-kept appearance; yes, he is no doubt a very attractive person. Do you recognize him now? No? Then I shall continue. Think about the boy who loved the girl next door. She's gone now. He's hurting. He loves her, for God's sake. Perhaps too much. Remember? Ah, recognition dawns at last. It is Carey Bell. Such a tormented soul. But now right now, he's sleeping. And he is peaceful. Would you like to know why? It's the dream; they have that power, you know. In dreams, everything is possible. Would you like to know _what _he's dreaming about? Yes, I thought you would. And so I'll show you. Being omnipotent has its perks, you know. So let's be on our way.

****Narrator's POV -- Dream Sequence****

            As Carey walked toward the figure in the distance, he could not repress the swell of excitement that surged within him. The atmosphere around them was non-existent; it consisted only of swirling clouds of murky gray fog that swelled and contracted and floated away as he walked towards the far-off form. He could tell, even from the distance he was at, that the form was quite petite and curvy. He also thought that he'd seen a hint of long hair as a particularly strong breeze came by and sent the gray clouds scattering. He hoped that it wasn't only his imagination. 

            The figure began to slowly, seemingly hesitantly, walk towards him. "Carey?" he heard an inquisitive feminine voice ask. "Is that you?"

            "Fiona!" he yelled in excitement. He started to run towards her, and her smiled in excitement as he heard her laugh in joy and begin to run also. As she reached him, she launched herself into his arms. He happily embraced her, and flushed as he realized how good it felt to have her warm body pressed against his. He reluctantly released her after a few more precious moments, and sighed involuntarily as he looked at her, now safely back on the ground. After all this time, she still took his breath away. _If anything,_ he thought to himself, _she looks even more beautiful since last we met_. Fiona smiled as she clasped his hands in her own small ones, and peered up at him through a long fringe of lashes. 

            "I missed you so much, Carey!" she said a little more calmly, though with no less excitement. 

            "I missed you too, Fi," he said warmly, a charming smile of pleasure gracing his lips. At this point, he could no longer resist giving her another hug. There's only so much temptation a man can take, as Carey knew. Just looking at her brought him to the edge of his resolve. He decided that this small gesture, at least, was acceptable. 

            Apparently, so did Fi. More so, in fact. She brought her arms around his neck and buried her hands into his hair. Carey unthinkingly let his hands roam from where they were chastely placed on Fi's upper back, and soon found himself encircling her tiny waist, slowly pressing her body closer to his. He felt her lay her head on his chest, and he let his cheek come to rest on the top of her head, one hand coming up to caress her soft hair. 

            "I must be dreaming…" he heard her softly whisper. He slowly lifted his head and cupped her face with his hands. 

            "No," he said. "This has been my dream for quite a while," he whispered. And with that, he lowered his lips to hers.

****Carey's POV--Dream Sequence****

She tastes like Heaven, I think. Does Heaven even have a taste? I was never sure before this instant, but now I know. Yes, it does. It's a flavor called Fiona. I know, I know, I sound like an idiot, but, at this point, I really don't give a damn. This is a dream. This is a _dream_. But on a scale of 1 to 10 in the Great Dream scale, this rates a 103. I don't want to ever wake up. 

"Fiona!"

What the Hell?

"Fi-on-a!"

Where did that voice come from?

"Wake up, dear,"

I open my eyes. Fiona is gone.

But in her place there is a rose.

There's blood on it.

****Fiona's POV****

My eyes snap open. I'm going to _kill _Aunt Melinda. I was having the best dream I've ever had _in my life_, and now the stark bleakness of reality is back as I have re-entered the conscious world. Damn! Reality sucks. 

Ah, and here's Aunt Melinda now. "Dear, I just wanted to let you know that the girls and I will be at the store. Call me on my cell if you need anything, okay?" 

"Sure," I answer. She gives me a quick peck on the check, and with that is out of my room and already calling for my cousins to hurry up, or else she'll leave without them. 

Now, I love my Aunt Melinda to death, but I never like going grocery shopping even when I'm in a good mood, and I'm not exactly very chipper at the moment. Who would be, after being interrupted from a dream like the one I just had?

I can still remember everything in that dream. Each and every perfect detail is vividly depicted in my memory, a vibrant splash of color in an otherwise black-and-white world of mindless carrying-ons. 

Life has been so dull, so _dreary_, since I left my old life. I miss the open road. I miss my family. But most of all, I miss _him_. Carey Bell. 

Who would have thought? I never suspected that I'd fall for him. After all, why would I? Wasn't he just like another big brother to me? But now, as I look back, the only thing I wonder about is how I _couldn't_ love him. Believe me, the love I have for him is _not_ sisterly affection. It's anything but. I'm talking about the Romeo and Juliet kind of love; the passionate, pure, undiluted, heart-stoppingly intense kind of love that's a combination of all you see in those flimsy romance novels, dignified legends, quaint little fairy tales, and so on and so forth. When I envision Prince Charming, I don't go for the whole Knight-in-shining-armor-riding-in-on-a-black-stallion-with-a-stylishly-arranged-mane kind of Prince. When I think about Prince Charming, I envision Carey. It's always been that way. I remember a time when I was eight when my mom, dad, Irene, and Ned had all gone out to a restaurant and left the then-twelve-year-old Carey at our house to babysit Jack, Clu, and me. Jack and Clu were busy playing video games (as always), and that left Carey with only me to contend with. Now, most twelve-year-old boys will balk at the thought of actually babysitting an eight-year-old girl when they could be playing video games and eating junk food with their two best friends, but Carey didn't. He could have left me in my room all alone to entertain myself with my toys and books, but he didn't. Instead, he stayed with me and we spent the night playing Go-Fish, watching T.V., having pillow fights, and eating lots of junk food. We even got Clu and Jack to join into our festivities. We all had a blast. Later, at bedtime, I insisted that Carey read me a bedtime story. It was some silly little nonsense story with no real plot to speak of, save that the Princess and the Prince eventually met at a ball and fell madly in love, got married, and lived happily ever after. On the last page, the book had an illustration of the Princess and her Prince Charming holding hands and smiling brightly at the world outside their page. It was this picture, I recall, that I found objectionable. "No," I'd said with a grimace. "That's all wrong," I'd continued, certain of my superior knowledge of all things royal. 

"What's all wrong?" Carey had asked, amused.

"The picture," I'd said, giving him a look that must have screamed "_Duh_."

"What's wrong with the picture?" he'd asked, now puzzled. He'd looked more closely at the picture then, no doubt intending to find some small flaw in the ink or some such thing for me to object to.

"Well," I'd begun, pausing for a moment to build up the suspense. "She shouldn't be blonde. Princesses should have brown hair, like me," I'd said, tossing my hair over my shoulder in a superior manner.

"Oh really?" he'd asked, smiling.

"Yup," I'd affirmed.

"Anything else wrong with the picture, Your Highness?" he'd inquired in mock seriousness. 

"Yes," I'd said. "The Prince is the one who should have blonde hair. He should look like you."

"Why's that?" he'd inquired, genuinely puzzled.

"Because," I'd said, thoroughly exasperated with his ignorance in the matter of proper fairy tales, "if he had _dark_ hair, he'd look like Jack, and that's _gross_. But if he had _blonde_ hair, he'd look more like you and Clu, and you're cooler. So Prince Charming has to look like you. Understand?"

"Understood," he'd affirmed. 

I now believe I was wise beyond my years. He's still my Prince Charming. If only I could tell him…

Author's Note: #I laugh gleefully and do a little jig… hey, I didn't even know that I _knew_ a jig…# Well that was a whole bunch of sap, ne? Oh well, you know you love it. Right? Err…right. Well, in the words of the terminator, "I'll be back." Adios, ciao, and goodbye (for now)! =o)


	4. I remember now

Author's Note: Hello faithful readers! Ready to witness me playing mind games on our favorite So Weird characters? Well, you're in luck! Read and Enjoy! 

Disclaimer: #I take a few shuddering breaths and try to keep myself from sobbing at the horrible, undeniable truth of the next statement# I don't own So Weird, nor do I make any money off of it. #Sobbing begins in earnest# Why, why, why?! #I calm down.# Okay then… on with the story! =o)

****Narrator's POV****

Love is so very fickle, is she not? She strikes at will, disregarding such petty things as society's constraints, practicality, and even the will of her unsuspecting recipients. How very _rude_. As it is, it's a very fine mess that she's gotten Carey and Fiona into now, is it not? But it is not our place to defend or condemn her doings. We are all simply observers to this tangled affair, hoping for the best and wondering about the outcome. In all the long years of my existence, I have learned that mortals can only exist in three states of being: complete happiness, complete _un_happiness, or some measure in-between. Our story's lovelorn protagonists have seemed to slip slowly into the depths of despair (such a melancholy existence, to be sure…though perhaps I am merely being melodramatic). Will their story have a happy ending? We can only watch and wonder.

****Carey's POV****

As I regain consciousness, I shoot up into a sitting position on my bed. What the hell was that? I'm breathing heavily. Breathe. _Breathe_. That dream was _not_ good for my mental state, I'm sure. Now I can't stop myself from thinking about _other_ things I could do with my Fiona. Things that go _way _beyond just kissing her. I've dreamt about her like this before (and yes, those dreams included more than just a single kiss), and I felt extremely guilty afterwards (just like I do now), but this last one was just…it was simply…magnificent. It felt like she was there, in my arms, on my lips… I know she couldn't have _really_ been there, of course. After all, it was just a dream. Hell, I realized this even while I was as dreaming. I refuse to dwell on reasons why this particular manifestation of my imagination seemed more real than it should have been. Not everything has a paranormal explanation, right? Right. Well…maybe. 

Good God, I think too much. 

"Carey, wake up!" I hear Molly bellow outside the door. My ears ring. "Come on, everyone, we're at the hotel!" she continues.

"_Alright_," I snap. Perhaps I shouldn't be so irritable (after all, I _did _ask her to wake me up). I try to lighten my comment by adding an ungracious "Thank you." "Your welcome!" Molly chirps enthusiastically, as giggly as a schoolgirl half her age. I roll my eyes, thankful of the barrier of the locked door. Honestly, Fiona never acts that way, as if she were a pathetic pool of hormones melting at the feet of every cute guy she meets. My Fi never acts so…I'm doing it again. Thinking about her, that is. I find that doing this isn't my obsession; rather, it's my life. I really am pitiful, aren't I? 

I'm such a baby. I may very well be the first person ever to annoy _himself_ to the point of madness. 

I've officially got a headache now.

****Molly's POV****

  Sometimes I can't help but wonder why I am the way I am. Which, by the way, is royally fucked up. I loved-- I mean, I _love_--Rick, and I want to remain loyal to him (or, at least, the memory of him), but it's just so hard. Irene says that it's time for me to move on, that I should have done so a long time ago. Maybe she's right. And that's where the hate comes in. I hate Rick sometimes. I hate him because he died. He said he'd never leave! I hate him because of how he hurt our family the way he did. His death almost killed _us_ too! And I hate myself, also, for feeling that way. I know that it wasn't his choice to leave us. It just happened. Life is like that, and we can't do a damn thing about it. Then, at those times when I love him again, and I'm "Molly the crying widow" once more, I find that I _still_ hate myself. Because I find myself looking at other men in ways that "Molly the crying widow" should _not_ be indulging herself in. Most recently, I've been eyeing Carey. I tell myself, "Are you crazy, woman? The boy's half your age!" but this doesn't seem to help. And then the hating cycle starts again. I need a man. Definitely. 

"We're almost there," I hear Ned call from the driver's seat, flinging his comment over his shoulder towards the general vicinity of Irene and myself. 

"'Kay, thanks Ned," I respond, seeing as how Irene is occupied, chattering a mile a minute on one cell phone or another, planning and altering and directing like a Queen bee with a sugar high. Sometimes I could swear that she has a secret shrine set up somewhere dedicated to worshipping Alexander Graham Bell, the inventor of the telephone. Hmm…ironic, her last name is Bell too… but I'm getting off track here. I have to go tell Jack, Annie, and Carey that we're almost at the hotel. Mmm…Carey. A finer piece of man-candy I've never seen. I make sure to wipe my mouth with the back of my sleeve before I go and wake him. After all, drooling isn't appropriate, now is it? 

I'm pathetic.  

*****2 hours, 12 minutes, and 34 seconds later--Band Practice--Molly's POV*****

Finally, after what seems like forever, our band practice/sound check is complete. I've been trying for the last half hour to remember a time when I actually thought that this was _fun_. 

I impatiently tap my foot as I sing the last few lines, and a few seconds later the song belatedly (in my mind) dies. 

Yes! It's _over_. Time for dinner.

Apparently, I've thought this too soon, for no sooner have I gratefully hoped down from the stage than I hear Carey call out for my attention. 

"Molly," he says, "Just one more thing…" He gracefully props his guitar against a nearby speaker and steps down from the stage, till he's facing me.

"Yes?" I prod, as he has not continued, and does not seem like he's inclined to do so anytime soon.

"Well…" he begins, seeming to mentally grasp for the right words. I idly wonder why he seems to be having trouble with saying whatever it is he's trying to say. It couldn't be that he's going to ask me out…

…could it?

"Wellyousee,IwrotethissongandIwanttoknowifyou'dsingit," he blurted.

"What?" I ask, missing his entire statement.

"I said… I wrote this song and I want to know if you'd sing it," he repeated, this time at a more normal speech rate.

"Oh," I said. I hope he can't tell that I'm sort of disappointed.

"Okay," I say, my tone sounding exasperated and unenthusiastic even to my own ears.

"Good, thanks Mrs. P," he says, sounding relieved.

I wish he wouldn't call me that.

He fishes out a sheet of crumpled paper from his pocket and hands it to me.

As I skim over it, I must admit that it looks pretty good.

Nice melody, interesting lyrics…I never knew that Carey was this good a songwriter.

"Could we try practicing it right now?" he asks eagerly after I've finished looking over the paper.

"Alright," is my response. After all, waiting a few more minutes for dinner isn't going to kill me.

Carey beams. Really _beams_. 

I fight to keep myself upright as my knees turn to jelly at the sight of his pearly whites.

We get back on the stage and inform the other band members about the few extra minutes of practice, and then we're ready to rock. Carey, apparently, has made copies of the song for all the band members (with all the musical notations included, too) so all we have to do now is try it out.

"One, two; one, two, three, four," I call, and we begin.

About thirty seconds through the song, and I realize something's wrong. Something's off, but I just can't figure out what.

About a minute into the song, I realize what it is. Me.

That is to say, my voice just doesn't sound right with the harmonics of the song. I decide to continue singing anyway, but about halfway through the song I just can't take it. We sound _horrible_.

And so I stop singing.

"This just doesn't sound right," I complain, after the rest of the band proceeds to stop playing as well.

"My voice just doesn't go with it," I elaborate.

"Maybe we should let Annie have a go at it," says Evan, one of the rodies.

Before I can protest that her voice was too high a pitch for it, Alexander, one of my band members, protests.

"No, she doesn't have the right pitch for it. It would sound better with a lower voice," he says.

I mentally agree.

"You're right." I tell him.

"Maybe you should try singing it instead, Carey," says Ned, who'd wandered in about ten minutes ago.

"Yeah," I say. "You wrote it, after all," I add.

Carey's face turns a peculiar shade of red.

"No, no, never mind. Let's just go to dinner," he says, embarrassed. 

But everyone in the room has already seen that the song has some potential, and we're not letting him change the subject that easily. Dinner can wait.

"No man, just try it once. If it still doesn't sound right, we'll forget it," Alexander pipes in.

Carey's face gets even redder.

"Okay…" he says, giving in to our prodding.

I move away from the microphone and go stand by Ned. 

Carey cradles his guitar and shyly moves toward the microphone, visibly calming himself.

Who would have guessed that Carey is self-conscious about his singing?

Suddenly the song is underway, the sweet strains of the acoustic guitar floating in the air, soon accompanied by the edgier notes produced by its rougher electric relation. And then Carey begins to sing, and it's like magic.

Time seems to slow as, suddenly, a sweet voice, mellow and yearning, pierces the air, entwining itself with the sounds of the instruments.

The voice is soft, sweet, and hauntingly unearthly. 

It flows like fine wine from Carey's lips, and has virtually the same effect, for we become intoxicated.

Words sung by this voice are suddenly infused with immense power, to hurt or to heal, and I find my emotions torn asunder and thrown into the wind in tattered shreds as the lovely voice continues its sorrowful song.

I am amazed.

I am in awe.

And suddenly, I understand.

I remember now the yellow rose he gave Fi at the airport, at their last goodbye.

I remember now the hug they shared, their flustered expressions, the intense look they shared right before she left.

He's in love with Fiona.

I don't know how I ever missed it before.

The boy's head over heels, down and out, completely in love with her.

If I'd never realized that before, it's all been made clear for me now.

I am suddenly very depressed. 

But I'll get over it.

I always do.

(Author's Note:  Hey everyone! Sorry for making this chapter center so much on Molly. I just didn't want her pining over my boy Eric Lively…er, I mean Carey… for the entire story. She'll find someone eventually. I wanted resolve that whole issue early on, and make sure that you all knew that this _is_ a Carey/Fiona fic, **not** a Carey/Molly fic (which I deplore, for some obscure reason which not even I know). Alright…well, I'll see if I can get the next chapter out sooner, and see if I can make it longer too. I would have added some more length to this chapter, except for the fact that doing so would mean that you'd have to wait longer for it. Oh well. See you later! Bye! =o)


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